


Kingly Benefits

by DuCali



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: #Boobissippi, Anal Sex, BAMF Bilbo Baggins, Bilbo keeps getting mistaken as a guy, Breeding Kink, Clothed Sex, Cock Warming, Cowgirl Position, Derth of Female Dwarrow, Dubious Consent, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Entitled!Thorin, F/M, Female Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Gandalf is a Natural Cock-Block, Grumpy Thorin, Hobbit Culture, Hobbits are sluts, In Dwarrow Culture the women rule everything, Japanese Golfer joke, Kings get tail whenever they want, Mistaken Identity, Nori being creepy, Not actually a foot fetish, Oblivious!Bilbo, Oral Sex, Pregnant Sex, Public Sex, Rule 63, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Content, Sexual Critic Smaug, Size Difference, This is your Final Warning that Thorin is not nice in the beginning, Thorin is a dumbass, Thorin is a sexy Asshole, Thorin's fur coat, Topping from the Bottom, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism, Worshiping kink, Writing your own porn is really distracting, breast milk, fem!Bilbo, oblivious!Thorin, thorin grows up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-19 14:49:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4750322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DuCali/pseuds/DuCali
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dwarrow women were rare- to the point that they could refuse kings their pleasure, where the men could not. </p><p>During the quest in a company full of his cousins and nephews, Thorin Oakenshield decides to take pleasure in their burglar- a creature soft enough that Thorin can pretend the hips he grasp in the dark belong to a feminine creature.</p><p>Bilbo Baggins doesn’t mind so much, being bed by a king of dwarves on the regular. She’s not as fond of bumming as he seems to be, but as long as no children come from it, it’s all just good fun innit? Still, it would have been nice if he’d asked first. Also, if they ever did it somewhere she could actually take her pants all the way off, that’d be nice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bumming Happens

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to use Dwarrow Euphemisms. *covers eyes* Hope it isn't too intrusive to the story. 
> 
> I'm still learning how to "-". Sorry.
> 
> Dub-Con Explanation at end of fic.

It started in the Trollshaws. As Gandalf stalked into the undergrowth in search of his own company, Thorin Oakenshield simmered in impotent rage. His blood simmered in his veins, and sang for violence. 

Sweeping his eyes over his company, all of them avoiding his eyes (and his ire), Thorin spotted the Halfling Baggins. He made a gesture to Dwalin, who nodded and set his sister-sons to watching the ponies.

Cocking his head with a predator’s eyes, he took in the burglar’s soft curves and short, slim form. Thorin’s mouth curled in a smirk, as he stalked forward confidently. The light was leaving, but Thorin didn’t much mind what his partner looked like. His curvy form and soft skin would be enough. A hole for Thorin to rut into was all he needed. 

He grabbed the burglar without breaking stride, ignoring his spluttering. They walked past the tree line to the whistling of the company, and into the dark woods. Master Baggins tripped a bit, and Thorin strung an arm around his waist and hoisted him up like a sack of flour. 

The squeak he made was gratifying. 

Thorin couldn’t go far, for security reasons. He didn’t want to be caught with his pants literally down. 

He stopped not far in, having found an obliging fallen tree that looked well enough. He made to slip the Halfling down onto the log, but found him stuck.

Mister Baggins was clinging to the back of his jacket. 

“What are you Doing?” Baggins muttered in confusion. 

“Taking my pleasure, Master Baggins.” He answered exasperated, “If you would let go of my jacket.”

“Oh!” exclaimed the tiny creature, releasing his jacket, “Why didn’t you say so? And You could have asked!”

“A King does not ask for such things, Burglar.” He rumbled, positioning his bed partner on the fallen tree with efficient pushes here and there to get him positioned just right-

“Well Hobbits don’t have kings, you understand, though it is hardly an imposition-- Oh! A little warning!” said the Hobbit, as Thorin pulled Bilbo’s pants down just enough to expose the hobbit’s arse so he could wiggle one oiled finger into the furl of his darkest mine.

“Hold still, would you?” he muttered, dribbling more oil over his fingers as he added another. It was more care than he usually afforded, but the arse in front of him was smaller than he normally had, and given that the company was either family or the Ur’s, he didn’t want to ruin his burglar too early in the quest. 

He jackknifed his fingers in a steady rhythm, feeling the hobbit clench around them, and added another. The hobbit squealed a little like a stuck pig, and the sound went straight to Thorin’s cock. Back in camp, a wave of laughter signaled that the company were well within hearing distance. 

The hobbit leaned into the thrusts now, and went from his hands to his elbows. His arse was finally starting to loosen, as Thorin continued to stretch him. 

Thorin squinted into the darkness. The line of Durin was of a line that was accustomed to starlight and ruling, not bred with the eyes of miners. He could barely see Master Baggins from what little of the sun was left. 

Pumping testingly again, he decided to add more oil. The Burglar moaned, inciting more laughter from camp, and tenting Thorin’s trousers to an almost painful degree. 

There was no reason to restrict the family jewels-- he let himself free, slicking his cock with the leftover oil, and guided himself to the burglar’s arse. 

The blunt head found his new hobbit hole unerringly, but met some resistance. Thoroughly done with being accommodating, Thorin grasped the hips of his new fuck toy and pistoned forward by inches. And moaned. Dear Aulë, that was some tight slick heat. 

His moan brought the camp into titters. Thorin rolled his eyes and pulled back and bit his lips, only to slam forward again, building back the rhythm of before. 

In his mind he pulled forward his favorite fantasies- cobbled from half-remembered memories of the last female he’d had pleasure in a century ago, when he was not an exiled prince without a Kingdom but the Heir apparent to Erebor, the mightiest of dwarf kingdoms. 

Oh Aulë, if he actually lived through this fool quest, he might actually get some pussy again. 

Thorin growled, tracing his hands around to the hobbit’s stomach, round and redolent, soft like a woman, and slightly paunched with the excess of a life of plenty. So would be the women of his kingdom when they came to him. And he would make them round with his children, his daughters. Aulë, would bless him with several daughters, Thorin was sure for the trouble of taking back a mountain from a Valar-forsaken dragon. 

He was careful not to let his hand wander lower as it was want-- he did not want to kill his own fantasy by accidently fondling the burglar’s hammer. 

Reminded of the fact his partner was not, in fact a woman, despite himself, Thorin grew more aggressive, pulsing forward to seek his pleasure in friction, as the Halfling twisted and moaned below him. 

Grabbing the curly hair in front of him, his fingers brushed against a pointed ear, causing the Halfling to shudder. 

Thorin smirked, leaning forward and taking the ear between his teeth, battering into the now convulsing hobbit as he imagined taking that pointy-eared bastard Thranduil in the arse. And wasn’t _that_ an image?

The Hobbit's arse was milking him now, and Thorin let himself to his pleasure-- the satisfaction of overpowering That Bastard, the joy of a baker’s dozen daughters, and the tight convulsing friction around his cock had his balls drawing almost up into his torso as he let his pleasure into the body below him. It was so plentiful that it started to leak out around Thorin’s cock. 

Rather than risk getting it on his clothes, he pulled out as the Burglar whimpered. He used the Halfling’s shirt to wipe himself off, and tucked himself leisurely back into his pants.

Relaxed finally, and feeling proud of himself, he slapped the arse in front of him- earning another squeak, and a little to the left of where he meant to since he could barely see it- and roughly pulled the Hobbit’s pants up.

He strutted back into to camp towing the thoroughly fucked out Halfling to the hooting and carousing of the company with a smirk affixed firmly on his face. 

He pushed Master Baggins forward towards the pot, where Bombur stacked him with bowls and pushed him further off to feed Thorin’s sister-sons, no doubt. 

He reclined back with his pipe, supplied by Dori, as his cousins gathered around for particulars of what they’d overheard.


	2. The Front Door & the Garden Gate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New Tags-
> 
> Voyeurism, Vaginal sex, cock warming, Thorin is a sexy Asshole, Japanese Golfer joke, Gandalf is a Natural Cock-Block, Public Sex, Clothed Sex, Nori being creepy
> 
> You get to see Thorin being an asshole from Bilbo's POV here. **Read the Notes!**
> 
> Also, _This Chapter is PLOT!!_. No-- Seriously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Zarraszmâ according to the Dwarrow Scholar is ‘to gild in excess energetically’ for 1st person plural Masculine. Which I interpreted as Thorin basically saying, “Aren’t we fuckin’ Eager for it, with all this lube?” Gilding, in this instance being Dwarrow slang for Lube. If my tense is wrong- yeah. I’m bad at that. It’s porn. Deal with it. I made up the Gilding=lube anyway. 
> 
> ** daharî = anvil /a dwarrow euphemism for someone you can bang your ‘Hammer’ on. (also totally my invention).
> 
> Also- I Lol’d in my head- it’s been so long for Thorin, that he can’t tell the front door from the garden gate. Bwhahaha. 
> 
> For those of you that watched the 3rd Harry Potter Movie, and read the books- the 'Japanese Golfer Joke' is a joke about an American business man that visits Japan, buys time with a prostitute and then shouts the same thing she had at him at his business partner while they played golf, only for the Japanese business man to turn to him and ask "What do you mean, Wrong hole?"

**Bilbo's POV**

It happened again (and again), though why the brute couldn’t have bedded her when they’d been offered actual _beds_ in Rivendell, Bilbo had no idea. 

He’d just glowered at her all sultry-like over the heads of the company as they stuck in one room. It’d been enough to make her ears light on fire, and make her rub her thighs together, imagining him rutting between them. 

Bilbo took her time in the baths and was afforded her own room. The elves had been generous too—

Elrond had sat with her in the garden for a while, and having learned she was the daughter of Belladonna Took, had given her one of her mother’s old dresses to wear. They’d talked for hours reminiscing about her mother’s adventures, drinking a rose wine that brought a flush to her cheeks. She’d regrettably spilled a bit on her dress, so after their tea, she’d had to change back into her traveling clothes for dinner while it soaked in her wash basin. 

Not that she’d wanted to look pretty for Thorin. That majestic arse was obviously just in it for the fun of it. “Kings don’t ask for such things.” Hah. 

Bilbo flushed and shifted her eyes away. Thorin had caught her staring again. 

She should probably stop doing that. 

She peeked, and he was still staring at her. He muttered something to Dwalin who looked back at her and laughed. She flushed and looked at her feet. 

They were walking on the road towards the Misty Mountains. Nori had woken her one morning about a week ago, shaking her awake at the breaking of dawn. He’d watched her silently as she dressed before they’d snuck out of the elven city together— which she’d be embarrassed about, if she wasn’t entirely conscious of the fact that the whole company had heard her moaning like a whore as Thorin thrust into her not that long ago. 

They’d been leering at her whenever Gandalf and the Elves weren’t around, laughing and joking in their secret language when she bent over for any reason, or walked within ten feet of Thorin. 

None of them had touched her.

She was conscious of it- and of Thorin’s gaze. They weren’t terrible about it, which was a relief. But there was an atmosphere somewhat like Thorin calling ‘dibs’ on her body, just like Beryl Cotton used to do for the first barrel of Holman’s Cider at the beginning of the season each year. 

It wasn’t malicious, but he did it with a certainty, and Bilbo didn’t imagine that she really could have said no to him if she hadn’t wanted it, even in the beginning; not anymore. 

She decided to be glad that he was handsome for being a Royal self-entitled git. 

He’d taken his claim of her arse three more times in the week since they’d left Imladris. Once, he’d stretched her body out over an obliging boulder set in a rock face, and she’d turned her head to the side only to see Nori there, crouched where Thorin could not see him behind another rock. His eyes had been wide— obviously Nori hadn’t expected them to come across him. He’d been smoking, and quick to smother the light of his pipe with his own hand before his king had noticed it. 

When it was obvious that Thorin was too enthralled to take notice of him, Nori had relaxed and, pressing a finger to his lips in a plead for silence had then smirked, settling back to enjoy the show. 

Bilbo couldn’t look at him without flushing as red as she had that night. She’d taken to avoiding him.

“We’ll camp here for the night.” Spoke Thorin, suddenly at her side. “Fili, Kili— you’re on hunting duty.”

He brushed against her arm as they nodded and turned to leave, and Bilbo’s throat was suddenly dry. Dawn had been hours ago, and the sun was going down. And now Thorin was sending his Nephews away again, like he had each time before.

Thorin had walked away to direct the securing of camp. 

Bilbo decided to get a start on finding a good spot. She took her bedroll— the boys had walked towards the only copse of trees, leaving her with some shrubbery off to the side. It was likely she’d need the cushion to save her knees. That boulder last week hadn’t been kind to her.

As she walked towards the outside of camp, Oín pressed a vial into her hand. Bilbo’s fingers curled around it. She didn’t have to look to know it was oil. 

Thorin had gotten lazy after the second time, and Bilbo found herself in charge of easing her own body for him. She honestly didn’t mind- Thorin was rather rushed— though she could count on him for an orgasm, it was the only one he was willing to bring her, making it obvious it was his own preference to come inside her while she contracted around him than any care for her own pleasure.

Doing it herself allowed Bilbo to rub out her own pleasure once or twice on her own. 

She set her bedroll down, and shimmied down her pants. She reached up under her shirt so she could loosen her breast bindings so she could breathe easier, and set the oil to one side. She’d get to that in a minute— this is the time she’d use for herself. 

She ended up bunching her trousers just under her knees and using the bedroll as a prop for her shoulders as she reached her hands down to her sex. She used one hand to spread the lips of her pussy, the heel of her palm pressed against that secret seed of pleasure at the top, and exposing her needy hole to the open air. 

Arching her back, she thrust her arse up, and plunged three fingers into her pussy, imagining Thorin behind her. 

Imagined him pulsing seed into her womb from behind, making her heavy with children. Imagined him smothering her from above, his arms around her as he pushed her into the dirt, or even better, the soft bed from Rivendell as he pistoned in and out of her body. 

Curling her fingers to hit that one spot _just_ right, she gasped and then moaned long and loud. 

“Listen to you.” Said Thorin’s voice from just behind her, and Bilbo froze in surprise, “you sound like a whore.” He growled, and Bilbo knew he was pleased, because that growl always meant that he was pleased—

Suddenly Bilbo felt Thorin’s hand feeling its way down her fingers and into her pussy, and remembered she hadn’t gotten to opening up her arse yet.

“Aulë! Zarraszmâ * Master Baggins? I think you are wet enough for me.”

Thorin was grasping her fingers, and suddenly Bilbo felt his thick cock nudging (finally!) alongside them into her pussy. It glided in on one smooth, controlled thrust, and Bilbo gasped, feeling wrung out and achy, spasming around Thorin as she orgasmed for the first time that night. 

She pulled her own fingers out from where they were stretching her painfully around Thorin’s cock, and Thorin grasped her hand, shoving it into the dirt next to her face.

“You little _tart_.” he rumbled at her, sounding pleased.

He wrapped his other hand around her middle and under her other arm, spreading an open palm under her shirt to rub possessively over her stomach, as he always did— never high enough or low enough to bring her pleasure from it, but she felt it all the same, the rough pads of his fingers sending electric shocks that shot straight to her core. 

He pulled out of her till she was almost empty— just the tip resting at her opening, before slamming back inside. Bilbo howled, completely oversensitive, and Thorin laughed, breathless and taunting.

Half the camp hollered in what vaguely sounded like encouragement. 

Thorin, the arse, actually paused— pulling his hands up Bilbo’s body, he straightened his back, and grasping one hip in each hand yelled back, shouting some foreign words of his native tongue, pulling her back on each thrust between them as if he was using the action for emphasis. 

The camp exploded into cheers and laughter. 

Bilbo’s face, if anyone had been able to see it in the dark was probably as red as a tomato. It felt hot, and she buried her face into her bedroll, moaning half in embarrassment and half in lust as Thorin chuckled darkly above her. 

He shifted and suddenly Bilbo was wriggling— towards or away from the sensation she didn’t know, but Thorin was having none of it. He encircled both arms around her waist to keep her in place and chased that same spot unerringly, panting wetly in her ear.

“There you go, Master Baggins~” he crooned in mocking perverted sing-song, “You can take me, take it all—” Before he was shoving his tongue in her ear, and Bilbo was cumming, her toes curling in the dirt behind her as she convulsed on Thorin’s cock. 

He cursed, loud and incomprehensible, before warmth exploded, and his member pulsed within her. Bilbo whined as Thorin filled her with his seed, his cock nudging against the opening of her womb and his hips stuttering into her one last time, before he collapsed on top of her. 

She squeaked and whined again at him, this time in protest— her bedroll uncomfortable under her chest, and him draped all majestic and making it hard for her to breathe. 

He just laughed at her and swerved his hips in a circle, drawing another whine from Bilbo. His half-hard member gave an interested twitch inside her, and Thorin flopped over on his side, drawing Bilbo off her bedroll entirely and into the dirt. 

Bilbo exhaustedly tried to wiggle away, only for Thorin to draw her back onto his slowly recovering cock. The action caused a squelching noise that made Bilbo grimace in disgust.

The dwarf inserted his leg between hers, and Bilbo noticed for the first time as it brushed against her hand slightly before retreating, that he wasn’t wearing any trousers or pants at all! Reaching her hand back, she added a lack of shirt or any clothing whatsoever to her tally- and him! Rolling about in the dirt!

Ugh, that was filthy!

But it explained, at least, why he was willing to just sit there in their combined juices, when he had taken pains against it before.

Thorin planted the foot between her legs on the ground in front of her knees, bending his leg and using it to spread hers until her top leg reached high into the sky. 

Then he started to thrust again. 

On their sides, the motion rocked Bilbo’s whole body. She could feel pebbles rubbing against the skin of her hip, where Thorin had left it bared to the elements. Tears prickled at her eyes from frustration as Thorin continued to thrust into her oversensitive sex, her leg overextended and flopping uselessly in the air. She started to sniffle and then sob as tears ran down her face. 

“Ssshhh.” He hushed, “doing so well, daharî**!” he panted, “Just a little more, you can do it.”

Bilbo hiccupped on a sob, squirming in place as Thorin sped up. He grabbed both of her wrists in one hand, and pinned them to the ground above her head, pulling up until he was an both knees and leaning over her, shoving his cock over and over into her as she struggled weakly against him. 

He moaned, his breath hot as it brushed over her face, and Bilbo could feel him cumming again inside her. Could feel it leaking down her thighs. 

He didn’t fall on her again, thank Yavanna, but he did chuckle at her, and again at her pained whine when he pulled out, trailing his seed all over her underwear as it almost pulsed right back out of her.

He slapped her arse (one of his bad habits) and pulled up her pants and trousers, affecting her disheveled appearance hardly at all. Then, setting Bilbo on her own feet and handing her the bedroll, he strutted back into camp in all his naked majesty. 

Typical.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:
> 
> Thorin finds out. (Thorin POV)
> 
> But not immediately, because I want him to suffer. 
> 
> Also, Developments with Bilbo!


	3. The 'Big' Reveal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin figures out Bilbo's a Lady Hobbit. 
> 
> (Finally)
> 
> Sister-sons see things they shouldn't.   
> Bilbo has a surprise.  
> So does Thorin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know a lot of you are mad at Thorin. I hope to redeem him. Just- not in this chapter. 
> 
> This Chapter has no explicit smut. 
> 
> Sorry, not sorry. Next chapter has sex. 
> 
> Next Chapter will be last Chapter, no matter how it ends. 
> 
> Rotten Tomatoes will be updated the day after I put up the 4th chapter here.

Tharkûn* Khuzdul for ‘Gandalf’  
Adad= dad

New Tags:  
#Boobissippi, Thorin grows up, Thorin's fur coat 

**Thorin’s POV**********************************************

Thorin was getting used to having him around.

A warm hole to fuck, no matter what Dwalin was on about.

So what if he’d stroked Mr. Baggin’s hair for over an hour at the front end of the Misty Mountains? He’d been too tired for athleticism, and the damn Halfling wouldn’t stop squirming fetchingly on his cock. He’d had to put a stop to it. 

Fili had made faces at him from across camp to express his displeasure at Thorin taking the small thing in the middle of camp, but he’d kept everything covered, so his sister-son could damn well deal with it. 

Kili hadn’t even noticed, them all being camped on a thin ledge as it was, and he was old enough to know what was happening if he had. 

Thorin was half convinced that Orí had taken notes.

But then Master Baggins had almost fell during the thunder-battle, and Thorin’s heart had made him leap off the side of a mountain to have him back, and Thorin had known he was in trouble; that he was getting too attached. 

In a moment of weakness and panic, he’d told the Halfling to go home. 

But then after the Goblin caves, Bilbo’d turned up again like a bad penny, safe and whole, blazing with an inner fire he’d lacked before, and Thorin decided that he was strong enough to resist the charms of the small fey creature. 

It helped, a little, that Tharkûn* was there, casting a gimlet eye over every interaction between them and the burglar, like the most resolute of chaperones. If he even let his gaze rest on Bilbo for a moment more than on any other, he’d look up to see the wizard’s eyes set upon him in turn. It was unsettling, to say the least. 

And then the Halfling— Bilbo— had saved his life. 

Had charged the white orc _Azog_.

Had literally saved his neck.

There would be no more pretending. Thorin wanted to strip the Burglar right there on the Carrock and swallow his small little hobbit cock to the base, Wizard be damned(Thorin allowed that he had no idea the actual size of Bilbo’s cock having never checked, but — he had only just brushed it with his leg on accident that one night, when he’d made Bilbo cry so beautifully on his own Dwarfish hammer, and it’d seemed smallish). He wanted to worship the Hobbit, only the Wizard and his own injuries (read: Oín telling him off) that kept it from being so. 

Inhibited by his injuries, he’d smoldered at Bilbo from across the table at the Skinchanger’s house, watching his cheeks pink deliciously as aware of he was of Thorin watching him fill himself with bread, milk, and honey. 

The Skinchanger had noticed and teased Thorin endlessly, pushing the boundaries of even Thorin’s sense of decorum by poking his Hobbit until Bilbo squirmed, petting his belly, and dragging him up and off all over the house. Thorin had even caught Beorn weighing the Hobbit in his hands with a contemplative and distracted face—had seen him dip to Bilbo’s hair and take a perverted sniff of his copper-gold curls, had glared until it was a physical weight on the giant man. 

Beorn had grimaced at him, looking almost apologetic for a moment, which had shocked Thorin considerably, until the Skinchanger had proceeded to stuff more food down Bilbo’s throat.

If anyone should be shoving things down Bilbo’s throat, it was Thorin. 

When the wizard had left them at Mirkwood, He’d been on Bilbo as soon as it was dark enough, fast and rough with eagerness. The Halfling had cried, again, and Kili had choked from getting an errant eyeful, but Thorin had cared less, pulling the Halfling back onto his cock roughly. 

Dwalin had chuckled and sat next to them to block the view from the Ur’ siblings—Thorin appreciated it— he’d forgotten in the passion of the moment that their miner’s eyes could see him in the darkness. 

He had meant to worship Master Baggins as he deserved, but the darkness had leant itself to Thorin’s eagerness instead. 

Later, in the wood, the lack of food and light had sapped Thorin’s passions as easily as a bucket of snow down his pants in the dead of winter. 

Worship would have to wait.

*****

Even if he had all the years of Durin in his many lifetimes, never could Thorin express the relief he had felt when Bilbo showed up at his cell in Mirkwood. Bilbo was wan, but no thinner than before, and indeed had extra food with him to share. 

Not lying dead in the forest, or thrown in the garbage with the rest of the elves’ refuse, or gobbled up by any manner of ill beasts, but whole and alive and just outside of Thorin’s cell. 

Thorin had kissed his burglar. 

He hadn’t meant to. 

It had just happened. 

(Just as his _Adad_ had told him it would)

And his Burglar, his Bilbo—(his one) had kissed back. Had held a hand to his cheek, and melted into his whiskery kiss like it was a pleasure. As if Bilbo were a female, and capable of accepting of such soft things. 

Like it was the simplest thing in the world to just accept him. 

But then why not? Hobbits seemed to be a soft people, of plenty, and various acts of passion— not once had his burglar mounted a protest, as little as it might have changed Thorin’s mind, granted, and yet— it was most likely that Bilbo didn’t realize- couldn’t know even! 

Whenever would the Hobbit have learned of Dwarrow marriage traditions?

And yet, it was still blasphemy.

To have kissed— to have bound himself to this tiny, soft, unbelievably brave creature! A creature that was not Dwarrow, and who could not have borne him children, even if he was. 

And now they were married; bound together for the rest of their lives, by the most ancient of Khazad Marriage Ceremonies.

Dís was going to kill him. 

Thorin tried not to smile.

***Bilbo’s POV*****************************************

Bilbo was practically bursting with feeling. 

She had held no hope for Thorin in all this time— he was such a _Majestic Arsehole_ , and royalty, to boot— she had worried terribly. Until this kiss.

What was she, to all the dwarfish females that were no doubt throwing themselves at his dainty little feet? 

How could she even presume to shackle such a dwarf to her on the mere basis of a shared child? He probably had a dozen already!

She wasn’t a half-wit, she knew hobbits were the only ones that practiced marriage with the birth of children— how many horror stories had Marjorie Proudfoot told her about single mothers among the race of Men? Of Disgraced Hobbits that dared to find warmth and passion in the other races, only to end in tragedy?

Perhaps it was best, thought Bilbo, if she kept the pregnancy secret, just for now. 

It was not so selfish, was it? To put everything on pause for a few minutes and enjoy a simple kiss?

It gave her hope.

****Thorin’s POV*****

Bilbo was smart, and clever, and wonderful! He had outwitted that contemptuous elf Thranduil! Burgled them right out from under Thranduil’s guard!

Thorin’s Husband was beautiful. 

His copper gold hair shone damply in the sunlight, his compact form just the right size to pull close to Thorin’s body. Bilbo was shivering, though— and Thorin turned his frown of worry down his body to spy his Burglar husband— and realized that while He himself had spent a mostly dry ride down the river running to safety, his gentlehobbit obviously had not, and was soaked through, shivering, and cold. 

He was clutching his stomach.

Was he sick? Thorin felt a fissure of fear stab his heart. Aulë would not be so cruel as that surely! To give Thorin his One, only to take him away a few days later? 

Thorin panicked.

Feeling possessive now that Bilbo was his home (his One!) instead of just an anvil to vent his frustrations on, he didn’t strip Bilbo where the others could see, instead taking him behind a few bushes, Dwalin grumbling about the danger as he passed. 

He worked quickly, stripping Bilbo of his wet clothes, only for the hobbit to start struggling against him.

“Thorin! This is not exactly the time to be doing _that_!” Bilbo hissed at him, batting away his hands.

Thorin’s brain froze for a second, before he huffed and rolled his eyes, returning to his task.

“Don’t be ridiculous Bilbo, we need to get you warm.” He grumbled at the Halfling, “I won’t have you dying of some man’s disease, or from exposure— no telling what you might have caught from those elves.”

“You called me Bilbo.”

Thorin looked at him as if to ask ‘So what?’

“You— we’re where the company cannot see us.”

“I fail to see what that has to do with—“ was all Thorin got out before the words turned to lead on his tongue as he took in the bandages wrapped all around Bilbo’s torso.

“You’re injured! How long— what is this from? Can you not go one day without hurting yourself?” he asked, exasperated, as he unwound the bandages.

“Are you— _worried_ about me?” asked his frankly retarded hobbit husband.

“ _Of course, I_ —boobs!“ Thorin spluttered, eyes wide. For where Thorin sought what he thought was a grievous wound were actually two feminine breasts bound in cloth. He counted them, just to make sure—

There were two. 

Two lovely breasts. 

Mahal wept. They were beautiful. When was the last time he’d seen breasts that were not his sister’s? Ugh. Thorin shivered in disgust. Sister-boob was vile. His Husband’s were far nicer. 

Why did his husband have boobs? Not— and here he directed his thoughts toward his maker— it was not that he minded that his husband had breasts. Far from it— he was just confused. 

“..-rin? Thorin! HelllooooO.” Bilbo was snapping his fingers in Thorin’s face. 

“there you are.” Continued Bilbo, and the huffy way he planted his adorable little fists on his hips made his breasts jiggle enticingly. 

“Did you hit your head?” asked the boo-hobbit.

“What? No!” protested Thorin half-heartedly, still enchanted by the movement of his husband’s breasts.

“You act like you’ve never seen a naked female before.”

Thorin looked toward his— husband? Back to the breasts on his chest, pebbling in the cold air, and then at the pants plastered wetly to his spouse’s legs before he dropped to his knees, pulling the wet articles with him. 

He was met— with a forge. Not a hammer. 

And that was lovely too. 

Bilbo shivered. 

Thorin looked up at Bilbo— over the swell of her slightly distended stomach (how much of that Elvish crap had she eaten?), past her lovely breasts (with maybe a second’s pause) to her eyes. 

No guile, no satisfaction or deceit. His wife had no idea why Thorin was confused. 

Thorin had a wife!

Shit. 

Thorin had paraded a female before his company, brought her to his bedroll and forced her pleasure for his own amusement and frustrations. Had taken her with neither respect nor regard for her own feelings on the matter. 

Thorin paled.

Had married her, without her consent or knowing. 

Forced her, despite her protests. 

Bile rose in Thorin’s throat, and self-disgust filled his heart. 

What had he _done_?

Bilbo cleared her throat. “What was that about getting me warm?” and shifted from foot to foot, totally bare and exposed in the air. 

Thorin shot to his feet, shucking his great coat (thoughtfully returned by his husb- _wife_ , while fleeing his cell) and hastened to pull his own shirt over his head, bunching it up and turning it around, pulling the thick material over his Wife’s head. He patted it down, and it fell to Bilbo’s slim ankles. 

Thorin turned his head to the side, contemplating. He picked up his coat, and gave it a rough shake, holding it out for Bilbo to wear as she pulled her arms through the shirt-turned-dress.

Thorin guiltily decided that Durin’s colors made his wife even more fetching. 

Without the bindings, her breasts were evident, even through the shirt. 

His shame would be obvious to the whole company. His spine straightened. 

Good.

He had never done anything in his life more vile than this. He deserved whatever happened. 

He stepped back a half-step as Bilbo arranged the coat to cover her stomach, pulling the fur collar up to her face. 

Thorin could already see the color returning to his treasure’s cheeks, and without meaning to, his body relaxed into a soppy smile. 

“I am going to marry you so hard.”

Bilbo choked on a laugh, wide-eyed. 

Had he said that out-loud?

Thorin could feel his cheeks warm with a blush.

Nothing for it. Thorin set his hands on his wife’s shoulders, swathed in his great coat, and stared deep into her eyes. 

“Whatever it takes, whatever restitutions I must give, to somehow make this up to you— will you someday forgive me for the way I have treated you?”

Bilbo was looking at him like he was crazy.

“If I hadn’t planned on it, do you think I would have sprung you from prison in the first place?”

Which, Thorin conceded, was a fair point. 

Thorin blinked, and pulled Bilbo close, sheltering the hobbit in his arms, and just breathed her in, his heart beating nearly out of his chest.

What a wondrous creature. 

_”zip it up already King! You can wait to bed your toff until we’re in a safer place!”_ yelled Dwalin’s voice in Khuzdhul from the other side of the bush, and Thorin tensed all over. He pulled Bilbo infinitesimally closer for a moment, drinking her in, before letting go. 

“When we stop for provisions, we’re going to have a talk.”

Bilbo looked at him, and nodded, once.

Thorin bent over and gathered Bilbo’s clothes, before stalking majestically back into camp— shirtless. 

Dwalin _was_ on the other side of the bush, and Thorin pushed past his smirking mug, trailing a be-furred hobbit behind him. 

It was time to face his maker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:
> 
> Thorin Worships Bilbo! (explicitly)
> 
> Bonus Gold-sickness!
> 
> The Company figures out that Bilbo is a Lady! 
> 
> and other things.


	4. The Dragon's Keep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorn Finds Out, but the company is still completely ignorant. 
> 
> Well--
> 
> Most of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this was supposed to be the last. 
> 
> Smaug Happened. 
> 
> Sorry, Not sorry.

Note: Saphire is a hard stone type- a level 8 on the hardness scale (along with Ruby and Conundrum). The only harder stone is Diamond. 

New Tags: Oral Sex, Worshiping kink, Not actually a foot fetish, Pregnant sex, Thorin & Dwalin, Thorin & Fíli, Thorin & Kíli, Thorin & The Company, Balin & Dwalin,  
***  
They were walking the rest of the way to Laketown.

And Thorin was acting odd.

In a good way!

Also, he was walking around shirtless (oh Yavanna)— had actually given her the shirt and coat off his own back!

His coat smelled like him. 

Bilbo turned her head, taking a surreptitious sniff of the collar. Not so surreptitious after all— When she looked up, Thorin was there, smiling at her ( _and wasn’t that an amazing development?_ ). He reached out a hand, and, taking her elbow, helped her over a particularly thick and annoying tree branch.

He was smiling. 

Bilbo dragged her eyes over the chest on display—, from the tattoos in blocky, angular designs in a thick line down one side of his chest, to the oposite side where a small piece of copper and iron twisted around and through his nipple in the shape of a curling dragon. 

His stomach tapered down, all muscle. Looking at it made Bilbo’s mouth dry. 

She wanted to lick it. 

He wasn’t furry all over, like she’d thought, but he was definitely more hairy than any of the lads back home. 

Her own personal Bear-Man.

His hand squeezed hers, and she looked to his face to find his eyes dark, and his mouth in not so much a smile as the toothy grin of a predator.

If his looks had made her hot all over before, this one burned her from the inside. 

Bilbo’s ears burned along with her blood, and Thorin’s grin spread wider in response. 

Dwalin mumbled something, and Thorin’s face turned instantaneously thunderous, his hand grasping hers even fiercer, as he turned to bark something back at his friend. 

Dwalin seemed to take a step back in surprise, his eyebrows rising on his bald head.

An arrow suddenly appeared between them.

_”State your name and business!”_

A Man!

***Dwalin’s POV***

His Majestic arse-ness walked forward in all his glory, man-cleavage on display to confront the man.

Dwalin despaired the direct line of Durin and their penchant for _drama_. 

“We are journeying to the Iron Hills to visit kin, but came across some trouble.” Said Thorin, crossing his arms (thankfully) over his mannish nipples.

“And this trouble was in the form of shirt stealing Elves?” snarked the man, with an arrow pointed at his dramatic Kings heart, ”I know those barrels, and I’ll not be making enemies of allies.” and now he was giving him a once-over. Oh Aulë.

Gods. Was there one non-dwarrow in all of Arda that didn’t gun for Thorin’s ugly mug?

Even Thranduil stared at him like a hunk of roasted boar!

Dwalin wished he’d had the forethought to beat Thorin’s face in more regularly when they were younger. A crooked nose and a few scars might have impressed the dams more…and maybe eased a little sense into his skull.

“My wife fell in the river as we were beset by spiders in the forest, her clothes were too wet to wear. I gave her mine.” Said Thorin, gesturing at the Halfling.

And –what? That was Thorin’s plan?

The archer lowered his bow, and the burglar, though a little wide eyed, said nothing, playing the part of a simpering traumatized female well. 

No wonder Thorin liked his arse so much. 

Dwalin gave the Halfling a considering look— Thorin had never shared before, but he was about to become the king of Erebor once again; he wouldn’t be wanting of real female company. Just maybe—

“My Apologies” said the bowman, “You are in need of supplies then?”

“Yes.” Said Thorin. “If it’s not too much trouble?” was Master Baggin’s contribution, as he clutched Thorin’s arm. Thorin turned to him and the soppiest face Dwalin had ever seen on his face since Kili was born stole across his features, and Dwalin just barely kept his own face from showing his shock.

Definitely not sharing the Halfling then. Woah.

He heard his brother suck in a breath. He’d seen it too then. So not a hallucination. Drat.

“It is not in me to leave a female stranded. Especially without even _shoes_ ” and the man held out a hand, gesturing them aboard, rather than trying to help the lad onto the barge.

Smart move. Thorin looked about ready to chop off any extremity that touched his burglar. 

He’d have to talk to Balin about this.

**Bilbo’s POV**

Bilbo bit her lips to keep from telling the man she didn’t care for shoes in the first place. It wouldn’t do to go through negating the progress Thorin had made. 

The barge was unsteady, and she eyed the water over the side uneasily.  
Oh Yavannah. Don’t let her and her child drown. 

Although— Bilbo set a hand on her stomach. She was awfully big for one just a few months along. It could be more than one. Or maybe it was because the child was half dwarf?

She supposed Thorin calling her his wife was his way of protecting her. 

She was big, but it was the first time Thorin’d seen her naked. He had placed his hand over her belly fairly often— maybe he’d been hoping for children?

“Your first?” came the dulcet tones of the bard man, and Bilbo looked up to find him hovering nearby.

She nodded, uneasy. 

“Ah. You’ve got the glow about you. I’ve three myself— a boy and two girls. It may seem amazing now, but they grow up only too fast.” He sighed, and wrapped the line that had tied them to the dock so it was out of the way. “You’ve luck in such a spouse as would walk around without armor for you. I know you dwarves prefer to be covered mostly.”

“It’s Dwarrow actually.” And there was Bilbo’s academic stubbornness rearing its head “The plural form of dwarf is Dwarrow.”

“Meant no offense little miss.” And he smiled at her. 

Raised voices drew attention to where Thorin was yelling at Balin, who seemed placating, while Dwalin and his nephews hovered in the background. 

“I do rather hope our children don’t get his temper though.”

The Bard man hummed in agreement, casting a curious eye on the commotion. 

“What are they saying?” he asked, to which she replied “Don’t have the foggiest.”

He looked at her with raised eyebrows.

“It’s your language is it not?”

“I find that no matter what language a male speaks in, all that comes out is vexation or confusion. I don’t really bother most of the time.” She responded with a sniff, settling herself in Thorin’s warm coat and sticking her nose snootily in the air in her best impression of Lobelia.

Bard exploded into loud guffaws, entertained. 

Thorin was suddenly at her side, hovering. Bard took one look at him and then looked to Bilbo and they started to snicker, which made Thorin’s face darken. 

“Something amusing _Samarralmayan (Love)_?”

“Oh, it was nothing at all. Just making friends.”

Thorin grunted— what a troll!— and tucked Bilbo up under his chin and into his arms, which was quite nice. 

“My name is Bard. Bard the bowman.” Said Bard, while he observed them with fondness and a bit of sadness.

“Thorin, son of Thrain— called Oakenshield.” Said the king, his eyes closed.

“Bilbo, daughter of Bungo. A pleasure.”she mumbled, all snark. Oh- but she was so comfortable!

“Pleasure is mine, little miss.” She heard as if from afar…

**Thorin’s POV**

She was so trusting. She just nodded off in his arms. Something very close and warm was building in his chest, though Thorin was sure he did not deserve it. 

He pet her hair, and it flowed around his fingers like silk— copper-gold curls grasping his skin as if to invite more contact. She was a warm bundle that fit nicely where he’d pulled her onto his lap, and he thought of another night, months ago on a ledge in the misty mountains where he’d sat her very similarly (but much more lecherously) in his lap to pet her hair nearly the same. The memory brought equal amounts of guilt and heat to mind. 

It was no wonder he’d fallen in love with her. She was divine.

The company had failed so far to see what was obvious, and despite his guilt, he felt now that he should put off his punishment for the quest. He could not allow his wife to walk to her death though— he would take her place. _A fitting punishment for his crimes; for Thorin well remembered the heat of Smaug’s flames, and no other punishment he could think of would be enough._

Balin already believed him enchanted or something for his attachment to Bilbo— he was not looking forward to what he would say when he entered the mountain himself in her place. 

Bard thankfully did not try to talk to him, and they made it through the front gates easily enough. 

With the coin they had managed to sew into the linings of their clothes, they easily found accommodations, including a small room for just Bilbo and Thorin. 

He sent his sister-sons out to get clothes (though he’d keep Bilbo in his shirt) and laid the hobbit lass on his— _their_ bed. While she slept, he amused himself by braiding traditional marriage braids in her curly locks. 

With a little shock of pleasure and guilty delight, Thorin realized that his wife’s hair would allow him to both braid her, as well as hide it from the company for a little longer- the hair was short, but thick, and the braid was made shorter still for the complicated braid. 

He bit his lips, before reaching into a hidden pocket of his discarded coat for the marriage beads he had crafted years ago. He’d made several— having no idea what his One would be like, and as royalty claiming them might have to be expedient— he’d no idea if he’d be allowed near a forge when it happened.

Wiggling his finger around, he found two rose-gold beads, a mix of copper and gold, which matched perfectly with Bilbo’s hair. If any of the company did manage to spy them, they’d write it off most likely as a trick of the light. 

The heavier one, still barely larger than his pinky bearing Thorin’s own crest fastened the end, featuring the Durin constellation with an Acorn in the center. 

He smiled and appreciated how well his sigil fit his One. He took the other- a simple bead clasp that was slightly smaller, and clipped it in about halfway down the braid. 

This is what designated it as a marriage braid. He brushed an errant curl behind one pointed ear, and noticed Bilbo’s eyes open and watchful. 

She smiled, and it was like the whole splendor of the universe were contained in the beauty of her face. It caught his breath.

“And what’s all this now?” she asked, feeling the braid with her deft fingers.

“It is a mark of my intentions, and my love for you.” He said, watching her face with an adoring expression, “If you were to show this braid to any who knows our ways, you would be my equal in their eyes.” More than, though Thorin would not say so now. As he was King, and her his wife, Bilbo would have ultimate command over all the Dwarrow of middle earth sworn to the crown. 

That was probably a bit much to start a relationship with.

He’d tell her later. 

“Oh Thorin! But you’re a king— I couldn’t!” and her hands made to take out the braid. His hands caught hers.

“Please Bilbo. It means you are under my protection. Keep it in, for me?” he pleaded, “It is short enough that it is not normally visible, and the clasps match your hair. You need not acknowledge it to anyone unless you needed it— and it would make me feel better in your security.”

She looked at him searchingly before nodding in acceptance. 

He let out a breath in relief. Her removing the braid and claiming rejection of his claim was not something he had thought about before he’d put it in. Cultural differences abounded between the peoples of middle earth.

And he was taking advantage of her ignorance. 

Again.

Mahal strike him down, but he was doing this part for her own protection. Thorin hoped she might forgive him this as well. It was likely she would reign in his absence when the Wyrm took his life for his penitence. 

She would have Fíli and Kíli there with her to help. And Fíli to inherit when he died, though Bilbo would still rule all. 

He could think of no one better suited to the job. 

“How about you warm me up some more?” she asked coyly— and looking at her face, Thorin would swear that butter would not melt in her mouth. 

He smiled, climbing up the bed to box her in beneath him. _She fit perfectly._

“And how would you suppose I should do such a thing?” he rumbled.

An impish smile lit her features, and she reached up, threading her hand in the hair that under other circumstances might proclaim her acceptance of his suit. He shuddered. If only he were worthy of her.

“Mayhaps I could worhip your highness?” he continued, a smirk in place, even while she scoffed at him. 

“Perhaps,” and he kissed her shoulder as he pulled his shirt off of it “I should kiss every inch of flesh,” became kisses along her shoulder “as it is presented to me?” and that turned into a nip at her collarbone, and Bilbo’s hand tightened in his hair, making his already uncomfortable erection as hard as Saphire in an instant. 

He looked in her eyes, hovering above her, and saw her swallow thickly. 

“Yeah.” She rasped, “Let’s do that.”

He slithered down to her feet. The skin on the bottom was tough as leather, but as he brushed his lips over the knuckles of her toes, they curled deliciously. He let his breath brush over the fur on her feet, threading his fingers through it, and felt her legs jump and twitch. 

It was like a beard then. He’d thought so. 

He kissed her ankles, her calves, the back of her knees, pulling up his shirt as he kissed further up. He massaged as he went, to chase the chill from her bones and to warm her muscles. She was small but limber. With warm muscles, he could twist her body into even more pleasurable positions. 

When he reached her thighs, he kissed up the whole expanse, until he reached the crease where her legs formed a v to her pleasure. He kissed just above it, and her belly clenched a little. It was larger than Thorin had thought, but made her no less beautiful. Thorin thought of making her larger still, filling her with half dwarrow until she was loose and gaping from the effort. Until they had a round dozen children and she begged him to stop. Begged mercy for her poor sex. 

He doubted he’d grant it. 

(Thorin ignored the part of his mind that reminded him he wouldn’t be around to do so, and that she’d likely find company in her bed from others in the future)

He kissed her belly, and Bilbo gasped. He dipped his tongue into her belly button, and she sighed. He lapped at her armpits, and she giggled, squirming away. He tasted every inch of her, from her delicious nipples to her elegant neck, to the tips of her toes. Only then, after a long lingering kiss that reaffirmed their love and union, he went back to the apex of her thighs. 

He breathed her in, the finest of ambrosia, before licking once up the outer lips for his first taste. Overcome, he dove suddenly and hiked her legs over his shoulders, making her squeal in surprise and then moan as his tongue delved between. He rounded her thigh with one arm to reach the pearl of her sex so he could keep it stimulated as he gulped the sticky sweetness of her sex like a dwarf possessed. 

It was the best thing he’d ever tasted in his life. It settled every craving he’d ever had. 

He flexed his tongue where it buried itself in her channel and she screamed, abruptly cutting off. He looked up at her in alarm, freezing, but smiled when he realized she was biting her arm to keep the sound inside. He hummed. She choked. 

Her thighs suddenly clenched his head, keeping it in place, and he increased his pace, keeping it rhythmic for her. He buried his nose under the pearl of her sex as he pushed his tongue deeper, swirling it in the cavern of her forge. 

As a wave crested the shore, she shook apart around him, his tongue being grasped by wet, warm walls as he continued broad strokes in and out. Her thighs gripped his head so hard it was almost painful, and her legs twitched as if she was in seizure. 

He eased up as she began to squirm in discomfort, overwrought. 

His time before Smaug had taught him some bed skills with females. It was gratifying to know that he hadn’t become rusty in the time since. 

He held her, lapping at the sweat that had accumulated in the hairline behind and beneath one ear as she came down from her high. Her legs stretched and folded, and one of her inner thighs brushed against his hammer, punching out a groan from his throat. His hips gave an aborted thrust, and when he could open his eyes again, his wife was looking at him with a delighted expression— eyes wide and a small smile, she looked almost manic. 

Hooking one leg over his thigh, she undulated against him, joining their hips in delightful friction. 

Thorin growled and thrust in counterpoint, slipping in the spent juices of his dear wife, until that delightful friction is gone, his hobbit wife suddenly clinging to him with a madness, hooking both legs around his waist, her ankles crossed behind his back, as she squirms until they meet between themselves, his cockhead popping obscenely into her channel on a short thrust. 

They moan together, and Thorin knees himself closer, wrapping his arms around her, and bends double to lay his head on his wife’s breast, and showing more restraint that he has in his whole life together, enters his wife slowly, like dragging his knuckles over stone. 

It’s exquisite, and not an unknown sensation like he would have thought. He pauses a moment to acknowledge he’s been getting pussy regularly while _imagining_ that the hot clench was some other female when he had the real thing wrapped around his cock. 

He suckles the breast lying on his cheek, lapping at the pebbled tit. 

Aulë had shaped him in the likeness of an Idiot. He kept a pleasurable rhythm while he mentally composed a short prayer to his maker in thanks for the boon he’d been given. 

Later, when his wife was exhausted and blissful, he’d write vows and love letters into her skin with his fingers. He’d continue to do so after she slept, and long after the candles guttered out. 

Sometime around dawn, he drifted from a semi-conscious doze into a deep and healing sleep. 

***Fíli’s POV***

Uncle was going mad. 

Amad had warned them about it, that he might lose his senses the closer they got to the mountain, but Fíli hadn’t believed it would happen. Thorin was— well, he was Thorin. Strong, defiant— everything a dwarf should be. 

Every night they’d been in Laketown, He’d suffered silently in the room next to his Uncle. 

Every gasp, half-choked scream, whimper and murmur was barely muffled by the thin man-made walls between Fíli and Kíli, and their amorous Uncle. 

The sounds were…disturbing.

Kíli had whimpered all through the first night, and then broken down bawling the following morning, when he’d woken with morning iron (the Dwarf version of morning wood), only to overhear their uncle’s roar of completion as he’d reached for his own hammer. He’d wilted like week old lettuce.

Fíli had patted his head consolingly. Poor thing. 

Thorin had never been so blatant before. In fact, his Sister-sons failed to recall ever acknowledging Thorin as a sexual being before, and the abrupt change was more than unsettling. 

When Amad had told them of the sickness, Fíli had expected gold, or possessiveness. Had expected to be kept in his Uncle’s sight at all times, to temper his paranoia against the others in the company. 

He’d not expected the eyefuls he kept getting of their uncle slamming into their burglar’s arse. 

He’d not been since about half way through Mirkwood, which was both a blessing and a curse. It’s not like Fíli could have seen anything in the darkness, but Thorin had been irritable and cagey since. 

He sighed. Maybe Uncle would be in a better mood after this.  
Casting his eyes around the room, he grabbed some cloth remnants left over from when they’d torn their old clothes into rags, and stuffed it into his ears. Kíli watched him from across the room, before another loud moan came through the wall, and he bolted up and hastened to do the same. 

They needed their sleep. They were going up to the mountain tomorrow. 

***Dwalin’s POV***

Trudging up the mountain, Dwalin seriously questioned his life choices. 

The boys were quieter than usual. 

The boat ride had been quiet as well, though they’d gotten a late start due to his majesty bumming their burglar for luck or something before they set off. It’d lasted an hour past the scheduled set-off. A good thing it turned out, since Bofur had woken up under a table half an hour late himself. 

Mahal knows Dwalin didn’t want to enter a possibly unstable mountain without their Miner. 

Balin was watching their King wrap himself around the Halfling with worry. Thorin was being secretive and possessive. Balin thought it might be a measure of the Gold-sickness and the derth of female company from being so long away from prestige (not to mention his hideous elf-attracting mug). 

Weeks ago he had told Dwalin that they would have to watch them to make sure Thorin did not try to kiss the Halfling in his madness. Dwalin had been skeptical at the time, but looking at them now, he could see why his brother was being so cautious. 

The boys had spent every moment they could away from their uncle, and had therefore found the entrance fairly quickly. Bofur and Bifur had confirmed it, and Dwalin had felt his chest fill with hope— that this harebrained quest might actually bring them home. That they could be more than a wandering people again. 

He just had to make sure that Thorin’s sudden lack of sense didn’t get in the way of his greatest achievement.

**Bilbo’s POV**

Thorin had been quiet the whole trip to the hidden door. He was sitting, calm as you please in front of the door, like a Gamgee about to confront his in-laws. While the rest of the Dwarrow scrabbled in the light of the dying sun, he sat serenely and waited for the moon to rise. 

His nephews had been panicked, and a few dwarrow had started to mourn when the sun set completely, but Thorin had sat there, and built a pipe, finally murmuring “Moon Runes, Last Light” as if that cleared up anything. 

The dwarrow had seemed to simply blink at him in astonishment, before settling down themselves to watch the moon rise. When the keyhole had appeared, Thorin had leisurely stood and entered the key in the keyhole, twisting once. 

The whole door had swung forward on silent hinges in an easy glide, without even a whisper. 

Bilbo had been gathering her courage, only to stop in astonishment, as Thorin had stepped forward himself, beckoning her to sit. 

Before she knew it, Thorin lay sprawled unconscious in the dirt, Dwalin above him. 

He turned to her with a scowl.

“Time to do your job Burglar.” He growled; and he looked quite frightening to Bilbo, pregnant and suddenly faced with this grim countenance as she was. Suddenly she found that a Dragon did not scare her at all. 

“Of course.” Which was really the only answer she could give. She paused just before she entered. “Will Thorin—?”

“He’ll be alright laddie, he’s been hit harder than that before.” Dwalin said, softening a little at the question. 

Bilbo wrinkled her brow a little. Had he just called her ‘Laddie’? or was that his accent saying ‘Lady’?

Shrugging, she turned and walked into the mountain. 

***Still Bilbo’s POV***

So far she wasn’t impressed. She had initially expected the stone walls to be damp, but they were not. 

Apparently a dragon made the air dry. 

There were no spiders, no rodents. No bugs, no birds, not a sound. Dark.

It was creepy as hell. 

The whole mountain was— dead? No, it thrummed somewhere deep. It was like when Thorin hummed after— or during sex. 

Speaking of, the sex had gotten much better since whatever happened in Mirkwood. The days spent in Laketown had been…transcendent. 

Perhaps it had started when she’d saved his life from Azog— he had acted more possessive, but more cruel as well. No, she decided— it had been Mirkwood. 

The pregnancy had happened that first time Thorin had taken her front door. A week from Rivendell. She was pretty sure. 

Her stomach was still large for the scant time she’d been pregnant. If she was right about the timing, the bairn should start to kick soon. Of course, she’d have to ask Thorin about Dwarrow pregnancies. 

Light ahead. 

A few more steps, and Bilbo walked out into a shire made of gold coins and gems. Hills of precious metals and piles of gems sparkled back at her, suffusing the whole room in light. 

It was dazzling. 

Bilbo waded into the throng, trailing fingers through the riches on display, coins sliding over and between her toes. 

Dazed, she almost walked into Smaug himself. His eye blinked, surprised, not five feet from her. 

“Er— hello!” she said, and ooh! Manners! “I’m terribly sorry about letting myself in, but really, I wasn’t sure you’d answer the door if I knocked. Well Met, Smaug, the chiefest and greatest of calamities!”

Smaug’s head was massive, made even more obvious as he raised his head to look at her. 

“You have pretty manners, for a thief.” He mused, “I am indeed the King under the Mountain,” He said, and wasn’t that funny? She knew more than one King under the Mountain. 

Could Dragons tell when someone was lying?

“Your heart— it beats oddly.” He continued, breaking her musings. 

“Oh? I am pregnant. It is the sound of new life, I think.” She stalled— oh this hadn’t been a good idea at all—

“You carry life, and yet endanger it here? That is not so smart, little thief.”

“Oh, I could care less for gold and riches, though I admit it is pretty.” She said, sticking to truth, diverting his attention from the fact she had no answer to that—  
“I have come to live here, and raise my child.” There, that was both truth, and fit in with the conversation….somewhat.

“And how will you do that, if I am to kill you?” chuckled Smaug, his head rolling up before coming back and sniffing her hair delicately.

It was a valid question.

“Ah, well I suppose if you are King under the mountain now, I shall petition to become your subject.” Oh Eru, what was she saying?

“A subject?”

“Indeed, don’t Kings need subjects? You cannot be king without a Kingdom, and a Kingdom has subjects that add to the treasury.” He’d like that maybe?

“What are you little thief? You smell of dwarf, but not-dwarf as well.” Asked the dragon with a contemplative hum and narrowed eyes, folding his claws in front before laying his head down on them, watching her with curiosity. “If I am to take you as a subject, I must know. And you will tell me of adding to my treasury.” And yes— Bilbo could do that.

They talked for what felt like an age, hammering out particulars and explaining taxes. Her duties would include writing epics for money in order to add to his hoard, and fetching the shopping. After some gentle prevaricating on her part, Smaug had also agreed to the buying of oils to shine his scales. That, also, would be her duty, to be shared with her child. She would be able to live within the mountain, away from the treasury.

And she had the authority to find more subjects (who were not allowed to shine his scales). 

She was also if at all possible to find a dwarf lord to rule over any Dwarrow subjects that might want live in the mountain, since Smaug couldn’t be bothered to deal with the fussy creatures. 

Bilbo tried not to die on the inside from the irony.

Particulars decided, Bilbo gathered a small bag of coin and exited the chamber, leaving the queer magic ring from the Misty Mountains behind to be rolled across the floor by it’s new Dragon owner. 

What luck it was she’d found it!

It made a nice distraction for a mathom. 

****Thorin’s POV****

He had failed her. 

The others had not even allowed him to explain. When he had laid out his crimes for their judgment, they had scoffed in his face. 

He had tried to go after her, but had been circumvented every time. 

Dwalin had threatened to bash his brains in.

Balin seemed to think he was suffering from goldsickness. 

His sister-sons were sitting on his back, talking with tones they would normally reserve for the especially dim-witted and/or sick. 

So he laid there on his stomach, humiliated, exhausted, and lacking any vestige of honor as his wife took on a dragon. 

He expected to lose her today, but in the form of his own death. Never did he think he would have outlived her. His sobbing and yelling had done nothing to convince his fellows that he was sane, unfortunately. 

And then she was there. 

His eyes widened in disbelief, and he started his struggle anew.

“Bilbo!”

In a flash and before he could wiggle free, _Bofur_ was hugging her. That _Bastard_!

He wasn’t particularly gentle to him as he ripped them apart so that he could take the miner’s place. 

Bilbo melted into his arms. 

Nothing could ruin the triumph of holding her in his arms again. 

And then she opened her mouth and mentioned the dragon.  
****


	5. Bilbo Takes Charge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo is Awesome. Nori doesn't do as he's told. Bilbo's child shows it's Durin Traits.

**Ori’s POV**

He hadn’t really believed King Thorin when he had said he’d married the burglar. Even less so when he started yelling about breasts and ‘fertile queens of the Kindly west’. When he’d started the invectives against the company for allowing their queen sovereign to march alone against a dragon, he’d started taking notes for the mind healers. 

Such was the duties of the company scribe. 

Their king had quieted down after the stone of the mountain shifted for the second time ( _the first time the mountain had trembled had made their king start bawling— the kind of tears that Orí had never thought to see from any royalty except perhaps Kilí_ ).

So much for the dragon already being dead when they got there. 

Looking over at Dorí was just asking for an anxiety attack, so Orí had gone in search of Nori. Nori spent the time the Halfling was gone chortling over in the corner, his back to the mountain, watching their silently weeping sovereign. His hobbies were kind of weird. 

But then Bilbo returned, and for just a moment as he gazed upon the marriage braid in their new sovereign’s hair, Ori thought back to all that had happened to their burglar. The subjugation, the humiliation, the spectacle that Thorin had made of her- him. His eyes grew a little wide. If Thorin were telling the truth, there was no telling what Bilbo would do to Thorin. Such treatment would be beyond the loss of honor. 

He seriously hoped Thorin was actually just gold-mad. 

**Thorin’s POV ***

Thorin listened with a lot of awe, and not a little bit of bemusement as his wife, sovereign, and queen laid down the new government structure under the mountain. 

She was poised, and she was steady. She did not falter as the other members of the company railed against her, questioning her authority and right to gamble all of their promised gold to the dragon that had stolen their home from them. 

She just looked into his eyes. As if his opinion was the only one that mattered. She would have to learn that the only opinion that mattered was hers in such lofty matters. 

He smiled back at her, tucking the hair that obscured her marriage braid behind her ear, before leaning forward to touch their foreheads together. 

Gradually, the company grew hushed, some in shock, some remembering him expounding his guilt and their burglar’s femininity. They had scoffed at him- Dwalin in particular. Having known Dwalin his whole life, Thorin did not need to see him now to know that his face would be ashen and his hands curled in the sort of tight white-knuckled fists that he makes when he is stewing in guilt. 

Thorin did not deserve that victory, so he did not turn his gaze. But Dwalin should have believed him. 

“A percentage of future profits is not terrible, as long as the Wyrm is willing to protect our people and front initial costs for rebuilding.” He said instead. Thorin raised an eyebrow, and it furrowed both their foreheads, causing Bilbo to smile. “However did you manage to talk him around to such a deal?”

“I applied to his greed, his vanity, and his sense of logic.” She said, her eyes full of mischief. “It turned out well- I have essentially made the _Khazad_ race possible subjects, and therefore, part of his hoard rather than his enemies.”

“You _my queen_ are the most intelligent,” and Thorin lifted his wife into the air— “stupendous” brought her down and against his chest, “amazing” which he punctuated with a big, obnoxiously overdone kiss to Bilbo’s neck— “and of course beautiful creature in all of Arda.” Finished Thorin, and Bilbo giggled from the tight embrace of his arms, held a foot in the air, but gave him a _look_.

A gimlet eye, even above a smiling hobbit mouth made Thorin lower her back down to earth with a careful hurry. 

She was his sovereign now. His One. He had given up supreme control of all the dwarrow of middle earth to this soft, amazing creature.

Wouldn’t do to dig himself further under the goathouse than he no doubt already was. 

Backing up, Bilbo produced a bulging bag of coin. “Smaug has given me money for food and supplies. And if you think I’m going to get them myself, you’ve got another thing coming.” She said. 

Ah. Delegating. Already she was showing herself to be a grand leader. She’d been so hesitant before, he’d been worried. He vaguely heard the company make a few noises— Dwalin choking, Bombur coughing— and By Aulë that sounded like Nori, sniggering in the back. 

He sighed internally— (because he was royalty, and royalty did not sigh aloud)— “Gloin— you’re in charge of finances. Nori— I trust you’ll get us some good deals. Try to make it last. Prioritize food— there’s no telling what goods are just laying around the mountain. No need to be rebuying things we already have access to.” 

 

***Balin’s POV***

Orc Shit. 

Honestly the dragon bit didn’t bother Balin nearly as much as it probably should- the economics were sound, and if there was any gold left over in the forges (which was likely knowing the previous king), even with the percentage to be delivered to Smaug, the entire company would live a plentiful life. 

Balin hadn’t actually hoped to survive, so he was kind of ‘meh’ about the whole thing. 

The problem was it looked like the ruler of entire Dwarrow race was now a _Hobbit_. 

Oh Aulë. A dragon alone he could have dealt with. 

Balin could feel a migraine coming on. Hearing Nori snickering behind him, Balin felt the hysteria hit him. He’d seen enough of Thorin over their years travelling together- had suffered his attentions once even— back when Thorin was just a fumbling lad. But He was pretty sure He’d never seen a female treated thusly in all his years. Nor so _explicitly_.

He never would have condoned such a thing had he known. 

Perhaps the Dragon would accept Thorin as a sacrifice. One less headache. 

And then his queen sovereign attacked her husband. 

**Bilbo’s POV***  
Thorin’s face was priceless. He’d been looking at her with such awe and love that Bilbo could hardly stand it, she _wanted_ him. 

She started to undo the myriad of catches and clever dwarrow clasps that did up his outfit. His face went slack in shock, his eyes going wide as his trousers fell down. 

“Here?!” he squeaked, clutching his gaping clothes shut, and trying to pull his pants back up as he gazed between the members of the company.

Bilbo looked at him nonplussed. 

“Why ever not?” she asked “It is not as if we have not before. I would not expect you to become bashful all of the sudden.”

Thorin blushed a pretty red, and Bilbo pulled again at his trousers. They slipped from his fingers and pooled around his feet. His smallclothes were askew, tented obscenely with the proof of his arousal. 

One of the dwarrow stifled snickers. Blinking, Bilbo turned her gaze to the others that were oddly observant. She rolled her eyes and started to unbutton her waistcoat. 

“Don’t you lot have a camp to set up?” she asked wryly, setting them scrambling to do just that. Good. Seemed that propriety wasn’t completely lost on them. Maybe it was weird for her to instigate relations?

Nori just sat down where he was, and at her look saluted her with his pipe which he began to fill with that awful bitter weed they preferred for some reason. 

The sound of Thorin’s heavy coat and armor dropping to the ground brought her attention back to her dwarrow lover. Thorin was completely bare, his coat and tunic discarded in a semi-neat pile next to his boots and vambraces. 

He was erect and flushed. His ears were oddly pink, and a tremor went through his frame as she directed him onto his back with the light touch of a single hand. 

Bilbo’s eyes lowered to contemplative slits as she took in how obliging her dwarrow was being, before she deftly unbelted her own trousers in a single practiced movement. Thorin swallowed and his ridiculously dainty toes curled in on themselves as her pants pooled on the ground. 

She stalked the length of him, running her hand a hair’s breadth from his skin as Thorin balled his hands into white-knuckled fists to keep from arching into her ghostly touch. 

Smiling wickedly, Bilbo felt anticipation build like she’d never felt, a static feeling head to toe awakening every pore—like the air in a lightning storm, like Yule morning, like the first of the season’s best most amazing desserts sitting right in front of you, begging to be taken and devoured—

Though maybe Bilbo was projecting. She was kind of hungry. 

Bilbo trailed the ends of her fingers into the dip between his collar bones, and dragged it until it hit the warm metal of his nipple piercing. Thorin exhaled shakily, and Bilbo realized that he must have stopped breathing when he lay down. Something in the thought made Bilbo want to keep this mad dwarf close, clenched tight to her bosom, where surely his presence would quell the ache that lived there.

It was not her place. No matter what she did— no circumstance would let her keep him. 

She would have to deal with having him—this, whatever it was, here, now. 

Bilbo ached with the unfairness of it, but refused to dwell on it. 

Her touch firmed with her resolve, and she planted her hand in the middle of his chest before vaulting a leg over so she was straddling his waist. Air brushed a cold perverted caress over her heated sex as the lips parted, dragged apart by her wide stance. 

She shivered with it, and Thorin’s hands wound about her ankles to steady her, even as his cock bobbed heavily just below her. It lay almost exactly upright in its eagerness, and Bilbo caught Thorin’s eyes as she slowly lowered herself to sit astride him, his cock catching only briefly on the flesh of her ass before bobbing back, a thin dribble of pre-come keeping them connected before it broke, and ran slightly down Bilbo’s backside, a cooler trail that was made all the more noticeable for the heat of Thorin’s body, so hot that Bilbo felt she might be scalded the whole length of her that lay in contact with him. 

She closed her eyes as Thorin’s gloriously large hands ran over her, warming her to burning and soothing her in the same motion. 

He cupped her breast and rolled it slightly, as if weighing it, before Bilbo arched into him, laying fully atop him.

Maybe— if she got close enough she could just climb inside him. 

Of course she’d never manage to get close enough with her humungous stomach in the way, curse it!

Bilbo reached behind herself and grasped Thorin’s dwarfhood in her hand, shifting to accommodate the angle, staring straight into Thorin’s burning gaze the whole time. As the head of his cock stretched her wide, Thorin’s eyes fluttered, his body arching, a low moan resonating so deeply within him that Bilbo could feel it in the flesh that pressed against her spread thighs, in the flesh that she guided into herself. 

Impatient from the sensation, Bilbo seated herself to the hilt all at once, and with her hand felt the air punch out of Thorin’s chest in shock. She herself felt delicious, from where they were joined to the hairs on the top of her head. Bilbo raised up, seated as she would on a pony— mounted almost, with the stone beneath them as her stirrups and the hot flesh beneath her as her saddle. 

Wickedly, she started to imitate the undulating motion of riding pony back. As Bilbo dragged herself forward, the pearl of her sex dragged across Thorin’s stomach, and then again as she undulated back. Moaning, she opened her eyes _when had they closed?_ and met the eyes of the dwarf she loved. 

One of his hands was cradling her massive stomach, while another molded itself to her hip. His gaze was molten and bright, like the hot embers at the center of a fire. 

She moved again, and again, and again holding that gaze. That encompassing feeling. She felt powerful pulling her own pleasure from this dwarf, using his body like he had used hers for his own leisure at the start of their journey. 

She exploded atop him, toes curling, breathless, and unable to force herself to open her lungs as the accumulated sensations took her over the brink. Inwards, she clamped down like a vice, and Thorin whimpered, his fingers digging harder into her hip as his pelvis stuttered abortively into her. His shoulders bore down on the stone, his head digging painfully into it as well, his eyes scrunched shut as he let out a yell and Bilbo felt the sudden hot warmth explode into her, as he relaxed in measures— both of them panting in the aftermath of the cool evening. 

Giddy, Bilbo giggled, even as the cold air pebbled her nipples and she collapsed atop her dwarf for warmth. He huffed at her with a smile on his face, cradling her head as they lay still entwined in the last light of Durin’s day. 

They just lay there, breathing together. Hands and fingers stroking short caresses wherever they lay, both too tired to move their arms much. A few minutes afterwards, as Thorin spread his fingers wide across her stomach, a peculiar sensation emanated from the same area, but from deep within. 

Thorin tensed all over in alarm, freezing in place. 

Bilbo realized all at once that their child must be kicking ( _of course he’d be such a contrary thing, announcing himself at such an inconvenient time— he was half Durin, after all_ ). 

The child kicked again. 

Oh Bother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would apologize for the 6 months since the last chapter, except I don't feel sorry. RL is RL, and I needed to learn that I can't please all my readers. I felt intimidated by how much people liked it- A little surprised- pleasantly! but intimidated all the same, and I fussed over people's expectations too much. That's why Bilbo takes charge in this chapter, even though It's not what she'd normally do. my own feelings of wanting to take charge came over a bit. 
> 
> Next Chapter will have Smaug in it. Also- Thorin's reaction to the end of this chapter. Bwhahaha!!


	6. The Bacchae with some Alteration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin reacts to learning he's going to be a father, Introductions are made to a dragon about a week later, and then Smaug politely requests a demonstration of Thorin's "Skill".

**Bilbo POV** In the sudden silence of disbelief Balin stepped forward peering at where Thorin was feeling his child kick my kidneys. "Bilbo lass, how was it exactly you got Smaug to pause long enough to listen to you?" Smiling, Bilbo turned at Balin’s question and said “Oh— he heard the beating of new life beneath my bosom, and wondered at it. He was quite in raptures to his own curiosity. Quite simple really—“ she added, when she realized half the company was lost to her flowery words, though Balin looked horrified and Ori looked ecstatic— “Smaug simply couldn’t argue with a pregnant hobbit, nor do I think could anyone if they know what’s good for them.”

A high keening cry sounding off behind her startled Bilbo, until she whipped around and realized it was coming from Thorin. He kind of sounded like what Bilbo imagined a Warg giving birth to an Oliphant might sound like in its death throes. It was mesmerizing. 

The keening wail petered off into a complicated sort of warble, before Thorin’s eyes rolled up as he gracefully (and majestically) fainted dead away. 

Ori toed his lifeless body slightly. Bilbo tried not to explode into guffaws as Dori smacked his little brother in the back of the head with wide eyes and a scandalized expression. 

Hormones were addling her brain. That shouldn’t be funny, it should be tragic. A tragic loss of decorum and embarrassment besides. Before this quest it would have been so.

Now it was just tragically funny. 

Her stomach rumbled and she turned to Nori and Gloin. As she opened her mouth, Nori dropped to both knees in front of her and let loose a string of incomprehensible gibberish while pressing his forehead into the dirt. The rest of the company soon followed his example, reciting something in a soothing rumble that blended well. 

It seemed awfully important, whatever they were doing, bowing and scraping like that. 

Maybe she shouldn’t have mentioned the pregnancy. 

She was kind of hungry though.

Hopefully whatever this is didn’t take much longer. 

Was it because of the bairn?

Probably. 

Bilbo had heard Dwarrow had low birth rates. 

That was probably what this was about. 

Suddenly they all grew silent. Bilbo noticed that Nori was still pressed into the dirt, and that he couldn’t stay there if she was going to get real food anytime soon, since he was half of the people required to get provisions. 

She got as far as “Okay then…” before they all rose, which was a relief. “Nori, Gloin…” and oddly— Gloin seemed to come to stand more stiffly at her calling him out— “Try to get something other than fish? I’ve been craving sweet rolls for ages. I can make them myself after today, but something hearty for tonight would be nice.”

Nori grinned, all teeth, before sketching a bow and turning to do just that. He barely even slowed as he passed the fallen king, to pilfer the gold that Thorin had taken when Bilbo had offered it. 

Gloin seemed to stare intently at her for a moment before bowing as well and following. 

The rest of the company was still sort of staring at her. 

_It was so awkward._

She looked back at Thorin. Glancing at Ori, she picked up a foot and hovered it over Thorin’s shoulder. Ori’s face contorted. 

She grasped the sleeve of his left arm in the first three curled toes of her left foot and yanked a little, but he was still unresponsive. 

Bother.

**Dwalin’s POV**

Watching the suddenly and inexplicably pregnant female toe at Thorin’s shirt made something bubble in his chest that Dwalin had never felt before. 

Dis— ah. Well, if The little one didn’t tear Thorin’s head off, his sister would manage it. 

Something in him struggled at the thought that he’d seen his grand sovereign being sodomized in the middle of camp more than once. He felt guilt at allowing it to happen, and not a little shame on behalf of Thorin not even _noticing_. Because he knew Thorin— in all ways, and Thorin never would have treated a female thus if he’d known. Definitely should have scarred his face up a bit. Thorin really had just gone too long without pussy. 

Dwalin thought a moment and realized he didn’t really know what type of person Bilbo Baggins of the Line of Durin was. He’d been writing her off as just the piece of ass that Thorin indulged in, more of a sex toy than a person. Thorin had been hoarding the (not so much a) burglar all to himself. 

How in Aulë had Thorin managed to impregnate a hobbit without noticing? He’d seen enough to know that their anatomy wasn’t that odd, though He’d never seen much come to think about it, so it’s not like he could be blamed for not noticing their dragon wrangler was female—

Ah. 

The dragon. 

Not something Dwalin was looking forward to. 

**Smaug POV** 

His subject eventually returned, and hearing the scrape and jangle of others following her— she’d already brought him More Subjects! It’d only been a week! He arrayed himself with poise to highlight the magnificent arch of his neck and the glimmer of the gold around him for best first impression. 

He smiled, showing off his pearly fangs. 

Should he flare his wings, or was that too pretentious? He hesitated, undecided, and ended up caught with his wings half spread as they all pilled into the chamber, and watching them walk without care for how close to the gold they came, he suddenly realized he hadn’t warned his subject about the danger there (it had honestly slipped his mind). 

One of the copper-headed ones almost tripped into a pile of gold, and his claw snatched him up in a flash. 

It was male, and stenched of panic. He wrinkled his snout at it, and put it back with the others before the smell stuck to his scales. 

“Be wary of the gold you see here,” he said severely, turning his head so he could look at them all straight on. “it is imbued with a dark magic that will poison you if you let it.” He warned. 

The group huddled gratifyingly closer together at that. Good. They were listening to him already! He had this king thing down. If only his mother could see him now!

She had always said he wouldn’t amount to much, that his life was practically worthless. 

Ha!

Turning towards his new subjects, he folded his wings and settled back into the gold, looking at the furry little people that he now owned. 

The female- Bilba? No- it was a sword type— Bilbo! Bilbo stepped forward, and a pointy-faced one with dark fur panicked and tried to pull her back until she slapped him back into sulky . 

“King Smaug!” She said, “I present to you your subjects! The first I’d like you to meet is Gloin, this the eldest red-head here.” And one of the copper headed ones stepped forward respectively. “He is a master of coin and accounting! He will be in charge of making sure that no one cheats you!” continued Bilbo. 

Ooooh. that was a good choice. He had a pleasant coloring too. 

“He has a wife and a son, who will join him in a few months time.”

Oooh. Maybe he could breed that color into his subjects?

“His Brother Oin is a medic.” Smaug snorted. As if he cared for medics. The medic snorted back. Smaug tried not to smile. 

“The other red-head is Ori! He is a cousin of the first.” She explained. “He is a scribe, and will take down any histories and laws, as well as any stories or things you would like to be remembered, in order to enrich your subjects with knowledge and to immortalize your words!”

He supposed that would be good in some respects, but since He was going to live forever, perhaps he should retain the right to edit stuff he’d said earlier every ten years or something. 

“These are his brothers!” two moved forward, light of hair. One like white gold, another like mithril. “Nori is your new spymaster, who will help manage the petty politics of your subjects, to make sure that none would endeavor to hurt you from within the mountain.” Bilbo explained.

His first subject was wily. He laid his head down on his claws, contemplating the new intricacies of his kingdom. Politics sounded like they’d be a bore, but the subjects introduced so far seemed to be perfect to reduce that headache. 

“the oldest here is Dori, who is a tradesman who deals in exotic goods! He will be trading for riches beyond just precious metals and stones.”

At that Smaug had to interrupt. “If you have intention to trade with any of the gold here, you will have to purify it beforehand. It retains the stench of Morgoth.”

Bilbo frowned up at him. “If it is so poisonous, are you harming yourself by laying in it?”

Ah. How to explain…

“I am unharmed. The gold is leaching the curse from my being- as Eru illuvitar sung us into existence, Morgoth sung a discord into the world. That discord is the poison that can only be leached by the refined metals that other races hold dear.” Smaug pushed a small mountain of gold away from the Mithril haired one- Dori, and watched it cascade towards the lower floors. 

“These coins hold my madness at bay. Without them I am but a beast.”

It was ridiculous how little the other races knew of the world. Of Dragons in particular. Ah well, He had a scribe now. they would learn.

“Ah. Um- Anyway,” Bilbo continued after a moment of silence, “ There is also Dwalin- your new head of the Guard who will keep order,” here a bald headed one bowed stiffly “his brother Balin, who shall council us on bureaucracy,” the eldest one bowed likewise, though he looked rather decrepit. He would have to replace that one with a younger soon. 

“Your new Engineer, Bifur- “ That one looked damaged to Smaug, but dwarrow engineers were unparalleled among the races, so he decided to let it be. 

“His cousins, Bofur- who is the new master of the mining guild, and Bombur, the cook.” Looking at them, Smaug nodded slightly. These two were obviously masters at their craft. No cook should be skinny, and the miner had been tapping against the different minerals in the platform he was standing on the whole time he’d stood there. 

“the last three are my mate- and his sister-sons.”

“Thorin,” Bilbo gestured towards the black haired one with the beaky nose- “Fili” Gold hair- such variation! “and Kili.” That one looked a bit young- no beard yet. 

The dragon looked back towards the grandson of the previous king under the mountain. The Hobbit had not lied, and yet she was the mate of the one he had dreaded coming back for so long. 

“You will not contest my kingship Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thror, son of Thrain?” he asked, expecting treachery.

“No your Grace.” Said the dwarf in an even tone “I will follow my queen in all things.” And his heartbeat was equally even. He was telling the truth.

Smaug folded his wings back into his body, and turned to catch the eye of his first subject. 

“and he pleases you?”

“Um-“ she said and turned towards Thorin. He suddenly looked alarmed and Smaug leaned forward in suspicion. Had this royal Dwarf been mistreating his subject?

“Yes my King- he pleases me well.” She said finally, but Smaug was not convinced now, after such a long pause. 

“I will be the judge of that, I think.”

“What?” asked Bilbo, looking alarmed herself. 

“You!” said Smaug, pointing at the miner and the master of coin. “Down the west corridor, there are plush carpets still, of cloth-of-gold, and silver. They were not pure enough for my use but they are soft enough. Fetch them.”

Those two and a few more scurried down the corridor. 

Eyeing the piles of gold critically, he used his talons and tail to sweep the piles so that they collapsed away from his subjects, creating a larger open space before settling down with a good view close by. 

“act as you would if I were not here, but do well Dwarf King. I will not have Bilbo suffer one unworthy of her.”

**Bilbo POV**

“But I shall never be worthy of you.” Mumbled Thorin as Bofur and Nori rolled the carpet over the now free space. He looked troubled. 

Bilbo smiled at him and took his hand in hers, letting her thumb sweep back and forth. “You shall do splendidly as long as you never stop trying.”

She brought his hand up, drifting her other hand against the rough knuckles and scars from a century of rough living and let her lips linger there. These hands- they had held her down and held her close, and for a week after learning he would be a father, had drifted in lazy circles on her midsection, tapping a secret language between the bairn and him, of kicks to her bladder and soft thumps of Thorin’s index finger. Those hands had brought her across half of Arda, and those hands were those that he had used to keep alive all his people in the years of their exile. 

She dropped one more lingering kiss to the palm of his hand, before threading one hand in the hair at the back of his neck and rocking up to receive a kiss. 

Her nose fit just under his despite the lack of angle, and his lips brought with them all the warmth and fire of his half-lidded gaze. 

He wrapped an arm around her back, and her pregnant belly pressed into him. One of his hands found her stomach and spreading his fingers wide, he pressed against it. The pressure shifted the babe, and her whole insides shifted with him. Thorin moaned into her mouth, his tongue suddenly spearing into her mouth, open on a gasp she didn’t remember making. 

Heat spread deliciously up her spine like slow lightning, and her knees suddenly quivered in weakness. She was falling, falling but for the strong bands of her lover’s arms keeping her anchored to the world. Her back landed softly against the ground, one arm beneath, and one hand tracing on her hip. 

Thorin made a small noise of distress and surged away from her mouth, dropping down to her neck. she let go of a breath and realized she was dizzy. 

Also she had a fairly tight grip on Thorin’s hair. She let the hair trickle from her fingers, and he rewarded her by ripping back her suddenly open tunic _Thorin’s Tunic_ , and sucking one teet into his mouth. 

Maneuvering her fingers downward, she unlaced both of their breaches with the expediency of much practice. 

Thorin paused in his sucking suddenly, pulling back to lap long flat licks around it. He pulled back further, shrugging his great-coat and stuffing it under her back, a great counter relief to the weight her pregnant belly pressed there. He rolled his tunic and stuck it under her bum to give himself a better angle of attack, and surged back up to cover her shivering body with his own. 

He returned a few kisses before returning his attention to her breasts, one hand coming up to cup and then suddenly wrench the breast as he sucked. She would have admonished him for the rough treatment, but the breast went at once from achy to luxuriant. It was like an orgasm all on it’s own- a pressure she hadn’t really noticed relieved, as Thorin sucked with great force. 

She let out an indecent moan and Thorin thrust his member against the folds of her pussy in a glide, and then again. One hand found it’s way to her hip to guide the rhythm. He flexed and his member caught at her, and he surged into her. And with one last suck he let off and silent, grabbed her jaw and pushed his mouth against hers. Insistently, he pressed his lips against hers hard, and she opened her mouth only for his to open and a sweet warm liquid trickle into her mouth in a rush. She coughed in surprise, and swallowed, and looked up to see Thorin staring at her face with his eyes as dark as night, and her breast-milk _for what else could it be?_ dripping in trails from the edges of his mouth. 

Well. That was new. 

Thorin, as if in a direct protest at thinking at all, surged his hips up as a perfect and most indecent massage, and one thumb suddenly found it’s way to what he called the “pearl of her pleasure.”

She fractured. 

For a long second as she came back to herself, it was as if she was back in the shire at the end of summer, the wheat grass gone golden and a warm wind blowing across the fields, the whisper of the wind through them an indistinct sound on an otherwise quiet day. 

And then she realized the wheat was actual gold, the warm wind was the breath of a dragon, and the sound that of a thousand gold coins moving as said dragon shifted position. 

“That will do.” Said the dragon- chiefest and greatest of calamities, and her laughter was matched by Thorin as he tried to muffle it in her shoulder.

She weighed her breasts, one satisfied and one achy, and turning, pulled her laughing dwarf back into service.

**Author's Note:**

> I am seriously considering writing another chapter for this.
> 
> Dub-Con is that Thorin doesn't ask, but Bilbo enthusiastically consents despite not knowing at first what is happening.
> 
> Dub-Con moment after Rivendale is where Thorin goes for another round and Bilbo tries to wiggle away and whines in complaint. Mean but not a rescinding of consent.


End file.
